If I Should Return...

Title: If I Should Return...

Author: Cormamin

Summary: Written in Faramir's POV as he rides out for his final stand against the vile creatures that haunt Osgiliath's crumbling walls.

Warning: Angsty POV.

Note: Follows movie-canon and I am aware that Faramir does not die, please bear with me, this is angsty. Reviews are appreciated and encouraged. My first story posted here.

~...~ - thought/memory

~"If I should return, think better of me, Father..."~

My words echo in my head as I lead these soldiers, this last force of men at my command, to try and reclaim the lost fortress. It is a hopeless task. A fool's task.

One my father has seen fit for me to take upon myself.

And so I do so, yet with a heavy heart. I realize that I may never see these white walls of stone that have towered above and around me through my youth again. And now they tower behind me, as I lead my company out the gate.

I feel...nothing. Only sadness and the same emptiness that had filled me since word of my brother's death reached my ears. It now seems to overcome my very being, and with little regret do I go forth from these walls. It is only my men, these soldiers who have children and wives, mothers, fathers, sisters, and brothers who care for them, that I feel sadness for. For their families, who watch as their own flesh and blood prepare to martyr themselves for a fool's hope of his father's love.

Perhaps....when it is over, the words of the White Wizard shall ring true. Perhaps my father will come to love me, before the end of all things. I merely wish....

I do not know my own wishes any longer. My world is in crumbles, as it has been for many years now.

I don't understand why this veil has torn away. I see now, completely, as I did in my father's hall.

~"You wish I had taken Boromir's place...you wish that I had died, and he had lived..."~

~"Yes....I do wish that."~

I close my eyes and bow my head, recalling the look of horror on the young hobbit's face. Pippin, he was called. Clearly he did not understand, until that moment, how much value Denethor had placed on his living son. Instead, his hopes and his dreams had died with Boromir, and there was no hope of me living up to them.

Only a moment later do the uncertain clanks of soldiers' armor shifting bring me back to this reality.

I silently spur my horse forward, and the others follow. Like sheep they are, being led willingly into a slaughter. How I wish that only I were out here, riding towards this certain death.

I feel the wind on my face as the horse moves forward. I am tempted to stare back at those white walls, to see the faces of my people once more, yet I ignore this urge. If I turn back now, I will never go on.

I know what lies at the end of this long march. I will die, and perhaps be remembered as someone...worthwhile...in my father's eyes. I shall be a hero to my people.

Yet I wonder for the love and care I have seen so many other fathers show their sons inside my own city. Was I not given this merely because I could find ways around wars rather than find better ways to fight them?

The line forms around me, and I see the faces of my men. Some of these are the fathers, some are the sons.

What kind of father would I have been? Would I have showered my sons and daughters with love, or would I have scorned them for what they were not?

No. I would have loved them...all of them...

I...

I can see the orcs...there's so...so many...

There are their arrows...black arrows tipped with poison, and blood...on the stones...the men I knew; I lost them there...

My heart makes one last desperate plea, back to my father in his high tower.

~Please Father, love me. Remember me....~

~"If I should return..."~

But I know now, as the arrows fly too fast to see, that I will never return.